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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




The Author in his wheel chair. 



Small Potatoes 



B Y 



FLOYD ISBELL 



^ ^ ^ 



GIES & COMPANY 

Buffalo, N. Y. 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two CoHbi Received 

SEP. 24 1901 

Copyright entry 

GLASS ^=^ XXc. N». 

COPY 8, 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1901, 

By FLOYD I S B E L L , 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



INTRODUCTION. 

TT Jhatever may be the achievements of the Twentieth 
Century — and all indications show that they will be 
wonderful — there will always be those who, by their enter- 
prise and genius along chosen lines, start wide ripples of -fame 
in all directions upon the sea of life, and also those whose best 
efforts in the same lines are only rewarded by a slight tremor 
on the surface, or not at all. When a man discovers, after 
exhausting every effort, that he can not occupy a high place 
among his fellowmen; that the hopes and ambitions of his youth 
are not to be realized ; in short, that the ideal towards which 
he has striven is beyond his power of attainment, he should not 
consider this fact to be humiliating. For as there have always 
been the high and the low, the rich and the poor, among 
mankind, so there has always been the man' who can perform 
great deeds and the one who is only capable of small things. 
So, in publishing this little book of commonplace poems, 
I know that it is not liable to attract the attention of the 
pubHc in general ; but if it finds its way into the homes of 
some of my friends, whose many kindnesses I have known 
and appreciated hitherto, where it may serve as a remem- 
brance of me in years to come, I shall be perfectly satisfied. 



Introduction. 

In casting about for a title, I have endeavored to find 
one that would convey, in the most original language possible, 
what I think to be the relative importance of this little book, 
and have been able to hit upon nothing that seems to be 
more appropriate than "Small Potatoes." 

We know that in the spring the farmer chooses the spot 
on his farm which, in his judgment, is his very best " potato 
land," and mellows the soil to the best of his ability with 
plow and harrow ; then he plants the kind of seed which, 
he thinks, will raise the best crop of potatoes. After spend- 
ing a large amount of toil and care upon them while they 
are growing, it often happens that when harvest time comes 
he has nothing to show for his trouble but small potatoes. 

So with these few poems. No matter how carefully 
the subjects may have been chosen or what hopes and aspir- 
ations may have attended that choice ; no matter how much 
thought may have been expended upon their preparation, 
they have turned out after all to be nothing but ** Small 
Potatoes." 

Not having been written with the intention of ever ap- 
pearing in book form, these poems follow no connected line 
of thought, as may be seen. Nearly all of them have appear- 
ed from time to time during the past few years m the Buffalo 
E-c'cning Ahm^s, and having been encouraged by a ready ac- 
ceptance and prompt insertion in the columns of that well 
known and popular paper, I have been led to suppose that 
the\' possessed some little merit, at least. 



We often hear people say that at some time of their Hves — 
in getting an education, for instance — they were thrown upon 
their own resources ; but while those resources consist of 
health and strength they should not consider their stock in the 
blessings of hfe to be limited, by any means. It is only the 
one who is thrown upon his own resources, and, besides, has 
not these blessings to rely upon, who can truthfully say that 
he is at the last extremity ; for there are very few opportun- 
ities open to one in this condition. 

I have been an invalid for a number of years, but, fort- 
unately, do not belong to the class of people who are con- 
stantly bewailing their lot in life and who find time for nothing 
else. Instead, I have tried in a great many ways to discover 
the means to occupy my mind and help pass the long hours. 
The poems contained herein are partly the result of that 
endeavor. 

In conclusion, I trust that all those who know the pur- 
pose for which this book has been published and understand 
the circumstances surrounding the life of the author will take 
an interest in "Small Potatoes." 

Oft these lines may lack that jingle 
Which should prove the poet true ; 

Kindly overlook this failing, 
In my lite 'tis wanting, too. 

Cattaraugus, July, 1901. F. I. 



CONTENTS. 



Our Bennie with the Rest, - - - lo 

An Old-Fashioned Sleigh Ride, - -15 

The Old Songs Are the Best, - - - 19 

The Paper from Home, - - - 21 

Between the Lines, - - - - 24 

Expansion, - - - ' - 27 

The True Alliance, - - - - 29 

Driving Home the Cows, - - - 31 

Planning for the Fourth, - - -33 

The Old Chunk Stove, - - - 37 

Cattaraugus — 1901, - - - - 40 

The Winters We Used to Have, - - 44 

The Boy at the Grindstone, - - - 46 

The Boy in the Philippines, - - 50 

The Husking Bee, - - - - 53 



Contents. 

Thanksgivin' Day Till New Year's, - 56 

The Farmer's View of Spring, - - - 60 

The Deserted Schoolhouse, - - 63 

The Pumpkin that Grows with the Corn, - 66 

The County Fair, - - - - 69 

The Sugar-Snow, - - - - 73 

A Lesson in Contentment, - - 76 

A Letter to a Friend, - - - - 83 

Trials of Sugar Time, . . _ 90 

On Life's Border We Stand, - - - 95 

Sparks from the Embers, - - - 102 



Our Bennie with the Rest, 



5 npwAS just a few short years ago, one sunny April day 
We all assembled on the green to speed upon 

their way 
A comi)any of soldier boys, who at their country's call, 
Had volunteered to go and help to cause the tyrant's 

fall. 
Our nation had decided to respond to Cuba's })lea, 
And on that day we sent our share to set the island free. 
My wife and I stood in the crowd and watched them as 

they passed. 
And many were the fond good-byes that after them were 

cast, 
And we, too, shared the sadness which that spring day 

filled each breast, 
For in the ranks went Bennie — our Bennie — with the 
• rest. 



Our Rennie with the Rest. 

And in those files of soldier boys was not a likelier lad 
Than Bennie was that April day — at least so thought his 

dad. 
His eyes were bold and bright with hope, to him the 

world was new ; 
His figure was erect and tall, his heart was always true. 
Our hopes were placed on Bennie, it was hard to let 

him go ; 
He was the staff we leaned upon, our steps. were get- 
ting slow. 
But the call had come for noble men and Bennie could 

not stay, 
He thought his country's claims were first, we would 

not say him nay. 
And sadly then we watched them go (in blue they all 

were dressed"). 
And in our sadness mingled i)ride — for Bennie with the 

rest. 



Our Bennie with the Rest. 

They went by train to Southern parts, and in a few 

days more 
Had sailed across the water and were left on Cuba's 

shore ; 
And many of those noble boys who landed there that 

day 
Had left behind, as Bennie had, their parents, old and 

gray, 
To mourn and watch, as we had done, for tidings of our 

boy. 
We heard from him occasionally, but naught to cause 

us joy : 
He said a dreadful pestilence was raging through that 

land, 
That many of his brave comrades had felt its deadly 

hand. 
And when we prayed at morn and night, we offered the 

request 
That God would guard those soldier boys — our Bennie 

with the rest. 



Our Bennie with the Rest. 

And then we waited anxiously for further news of him, 
We scanned each paper eagerly until our eyes grew dim. 
At last we read one day about a bloody battle fought, 
'Twas victory for the boys in blue, but with lives it had 

been bought. 
And as we searched the paper for the news that had 

been sent, 
We learned that in the van that day was Bennie' s 

regiment. 

It told how they had faced the storm of bullets meant 

to kill, 
And many served their purpose at the charge of San 

Juan Hill, 
And of our village boys we read, with doubt and fear 

oppressed, 
That many had been killed that day— our Bennie with 

the rest. 



Our I'ennie witli llie Rest. 

Our Bennie dead? Our greatest fear had now been 

realized, 
And life seemed scarce worth striving for without the 

the boy we prized ; 
But while we mourned him bitterly, our grief was part 

consoled 
To know he did his duty, for that's what the papers 

told. 
And we had thought to spend our days in comfort with 

our boy, 
But now this fatal news had come to all our hopes de- 
stroy. 
Of the boys that left with Bennie, some returned with 

muffled drum. 
Half- hope fully we watched the lines, but Bennie didn't 

come. 
1 think that up in heaven there are standing with the 

blest 
Those boys who fell at San Juan — our Bennie with the 

rest. 



An Old-Fashioned Sleigh Ride. 

T T Then the bits of frost are dancing in tlie quiet winter 

air, 
Floating with a cold, clear lustre, sparkling, gleaming 

everywhere, 
And the moon, now slowly peeping o'er the distant 

eastern hill, 
Sheds its light on fields of whiteness lying calm and 

cold and still ; 
And the road so white and frozen, beaten smooth by 

heavy feet, 
Stretching out into the distance, seems to beckon and 

to greet — 
Then 'tis happiness complete to jump into an open sleigh, 
x^nd with friends of youth and gladness to the country 

speed away. 



An Old-Fashioiied Sleigh Ride. 

Out, far out, to where with snowbanks on both sides 

the road is lined, 
And all thoughts of care and toil are, with the ..village, 

left behind. 
Naught we care that chilly winter has all nature in its 

hold ; 
That the very air is glistening all about us with the cold ; 
That the horses rushing onward, seem to breathe out 

clouds of steam, 
Or that white fields in the moonlight scintillate with 

diamonds' gleam ; 
For the sleigh is full of blankets, there are robes of 

warmth and size. 
And the girls are wrapped so closely nothing shows but 

laughing eyes. 



Health asserts its full dominion, gladness blooms upon 

each lip. 
And the blood of youth goes tingling into every finger 

tip. 



An Old-Fashioned Sleigh Ride. 

'Tis no time for drooping spirits, painful thoughts are 
put to flight, 

And are left far in the distance on this matchless moon- 
light night. • 

We have passed the village limits and the peaceful 
farms begin, 

And the lights from farmhouse windows show the pleas- 
ant scenes within ; 

Gliding by with song and laughter, and with many a 
merry shout, 

We can see the inmates coming to the doors and peep- 
ing out. 

But the hours have passed too quickly and 'tis time to 

turn around, 
So \ve send the horses flying on the journey homeward 

bound. 
Talk of ''poetry of motion," we have found that very 

thing 
In this old sleigh gliding onward like a bird ujjon the 

wing ; 



An Old-Fashioned Sleigh Ride. 

And the houses as we pass them now are still, and all is 

dark, 
Nothing greets us from the silence save the watch dog's 

savage bark. 
Soon the village streets are entered and we reach our 

homes once more, 
Glad for such a time of pleasure, sorry that the ride is 

o'er. 



The Old Songs Are the Best, 



A LL like to hear the new songs sung, 

They're filled with pleasant rhymes, 
And make the world seem much more bright 

When set to tuneful chimes ; 
But soon they lose their power to charm 

And soothe the human breast, 
Then, after all, we seem to think 

The old songs are the best. 

For we may hear the new songs sung 

In tones both low and sweet ; 
But still we cannot yield to them 

That high and honored seat 
Which old songs hold within our hearts : 

They cheer us when oppressed ; 
And so we wish to say to all 

We like the old songs best. 



The Old Songs Are the Best. 

We can't forget the old songs, 

The new ones come and go. 
And cannot stand the test of time 

With cahii and steady glow ; 
But the old, old songs can never die, 

They each time seem more blessed. 
And that's one reason why we say 

The old songs are the best. 

The old folks like to hear again 

The songs they knew when young, 
It makes them think of other days 

When they those songs have sung ; 
And when you wish to cheer with song 

Just sing at our request 
Those songs whose lustre never fades — 

The old songs are the best. 



The Paper from Home. 



Oh, the paper from home, how we love to receive it 
When traveling far from our life's dearest spot ; 

We search through its pages and never will leave it 

Till we learn all its news, with a great deal that's 
not. 

Some statements therein may bring laughter and glad- 
ness. 

Some witty remark or a joke on a friend, 
While news of a dear one's misfortune or sadness 

May cause us our sympathies quickly to send. 

But one not familiar with names and with places 
Most surely would find its page dull to peruse ; 

And could not know the visions which memory traces 
And calls to our thoughts by its most welcome news. 



The Paper from Home. 

For who could rejoice with becoming elation, 

But one whom his fancy to home scenes has led, 

To read in its columns the grand information 

That good "■ Deacon Jones has his barn painted 
red" ? 

Who cares w^hen its tidings have set us to dreaming 

Of some friend's success, in whose honors we share; 
That such items as this in its pages are beaming : 

''Just ste]) into Blank's for your spring under- 
wear ' ' ? 
Or perchance some account may attract our attention 

Which brings the old place to our minds nearer 
still ; 
But down at the bottom this fact it may mention : 

" We wish you would call in and pay up your bill. ' ' 

Some papers take pride in a style rich and glowing, 
They wield a great power for good in the land ; 



The Paper from Home. 

But we take the first look at the one with the showing 
More modest and plain — perhaps turned out by- 
hand. 
Its tidings are welcome as springtime and flowers, 

They turn our thoughts homeward wherever we 
roam ; 
Its pages to cheer us have wonderful powers — 

Glad messages bearing, the paper from home. 



Between the Lines. 



'T^here's a phantom sort of writing 

Which is much in use to-day, 
To express a shade of meaning 

Different from what we say. 
You may think it is not easy 

To accomplish such designs, 
But the plan is very simple : 

Write it in between the lines. 

Not with words express this meaning, 

Let the written lines suggest 
That some thoughts from them are lacking, 

And your friend may guess the rest. 
If with you he's well acquainted, 

To your inmost thought inclines, 
He will find the magic secret 

And will read between the lines. 



Between the Lines. 

Letters full of grief and sadness 

Often reach us by the way, 
Which, if hastily read over. 

All our happiness would slay. 
If we ponder them more slowly, 

We may know the sun still shines; 
May receive some thoughts of comfort 

If we read between the lines. 

When a young man sends a letter 

To the girl whom he adores, 
Asking her that old, old question 

And an answer soon implores, 
He should not despair too quickly 

If his offer she declines. 
He may find a '' yes " — or nearly — 

Hidden in between the lines. 



Between the Lines. 

Through a simple form of language 

Master thoughts are apt to gleam, 

Proving true the well-known saying 

That " things are not what they seem," 

And' a lofty style of phrases, 

Oft with motives base combines ; 



Diverse are the secret tidings 



We may find between the lines. 



26 



Expan 



sion. 



C^XPANSION, some think, must be a new word, 

Just coined for this special occasion. 
And that, in our language, 'twas ne'er before heard — 

At least, in our own beloved nation. 

But e'er since our ancestors first paved the way, 

Where other nations then landed, 
Expansion has always been given full sway — 

We have grown, or might say, expanded. 

Yes, we've grown till we're second to no other nation, 

And no other nation so free ; 
Where our flag goes, there goes education, 

Far away to the isles of the sea. 

From a few little settlements down on the coast. 
Till we spread now from shore to shore ; 

We may call that expansion, 'tis no vain boast. 
Now we reach o'er the sea for more. 



Expansion. 

Our nation is growing in every line known — 

In commerce, intelligence, too — 
And now may the good seed by industry sown 

Bring forth fruit the whole world through. 

'Tis not for the mere sake of showing our might 
That we place those isles in subjection ; 

'Tis to grant them the strong arm of goodness and right, 
And from tyranny give them protection. 

In the van of the nations we forward shall go, 
Let none check our onward advance ; 

Our progressive spirit, which makes us to grow. 
Will our glory and honor enhance. 

Expansion's a good thing if rightly it's used, 

And its enemies should not forget 
That our Uncle Sam will not see it abused. 

And he ne'er failed in anything yet. 



The True Alliance, 



^T 7iTH England we talk of alliance 
As a thing diplomatically gained ; 

And we think, to give more reliance, 
It must be, on paper, maintained. 

But I think the alliance most needed 

Is one which already exists ; 
In the hearts of the people 'tis seeded, 

And of friendship and love it consists. 

A child needs no treaty with mother, 

To grant hiui the strength of her might 

'Tis love that controls him — none other 

Can uphold him in paths that are right. 



Ihe rrue Alli.uuo. 

So with KnL;laiui. there's 110 arlntration 
l\in cause her to be our true tVieiui ; 

Rut. when nienaeed by some other nation, 
l^n her we can always dejUMub 

Her friendship at times may seem ehilbng. 
For reasons that to her seem right ; 

Hut when danger surrounds us she's willing 
To back u\^ our strength with her might. 

Treaties may sometimes be broken. 

But that tViendship which' we cannot spurn 
Has need of no kind of token — 

That love we should trv to return. 



Driving Home the Cows, 



Wou may talk about the springtime, 

And the birds that sing so sweet, 
And the waking voice of nature — 

That, of course, is hard to beat ; 
But the sound to cheer a troubled soul. 

And his feelings to arouse. 
Is to hear the farm boy's cheerful voice 

\V'hen he's driving home the cows. 

If, perhai)s, you have not slept well. 

And your spirits sinking low. 
Till there's naught you think can raise them, 

That's the time you're glad to know 
That there's someone who is happy, 

In whose life no care allows — 
From the fields his voice comes floating 

As the boy drives home the cows. 



Driving Home the Cows. 

In the evening, as you wonder 

What that boy can be about, 
And you call him, loud and louder 

Then, in answer, comes a shout 
From the distant hill-top yonder. 

Where the peaceful cattle browse ; 
Soon his clear young voice is ringing, 

As he's driving home the cows. 

When you're hunting 'round for blossoms, 

And for sights and sounds of spring, 
With a critic's view of nature. 

Judging roughly everything. 
Call not any sound the sweetest. 

And on nothing stake your vows, 
Till you hear those happy, joyous notes. 

As the boy drives home the cows. 



Planning tor the Fourth 



npHEv'RE goin' to celebrate tlie Fourth again this year 
in town, 

And I've about decided that I'll hitch up and go down; 

For all the cro{)S are doin' fine, although they're needin' 
rain, 

lUit things are sure to turn out right — that's why we 
can't complain. 

And so 1 think to spend a day on which to celebrate 

'Vhe founding of a nation that has grown so rich and 
great 

Will teach a man to do his best and fill his heart with 
cheer, 

Which makes his toil seem lighter and will last through- 
out the year. 

And so I'll drop the cares of life and simply run away 

And reach town bright and early, 'fore the band begins 
to play. 



Planning for the Fourth. 

The hired man's been workin' for a week 'most every 

night 
To wash and clean the buggy and to rub the harness 

bright ; 
He's goin' to take his girl, I guess, to help him cele- 
brate, 
And I shan't blame him any if he gets home rather late. 
For I have been right there myself, and recall each 

moonlight trip 
I've taken with my sweetheart with the lines around the 

whip. 
So I'll take the three-spring wagon, and my team that's 

good and true, 
And decorate the harness with the old Red, White and 

Blue, 
And we all shall be most happy when we start upon our 

way 
And arrive in time to cheer 'em when the band begins 

to play. 



Planning for the Fourth. 

And when we pass along the streets, all decked with 

colors fair, 
We'll catch the spirit of the day that's floatin' in the 

air ; 
I spent the Fourth there when a boy, and shot fire- 
crackers then. 
My wife '11 have to watch me or I'll do the same again. 
We'll meet with friends and relatives we have not seen 

for years, 
And talk about the crops and things, our hopes and 

doubts and fears, 
And now and then we'll take the children 'round to 

where they sell 
The lemonade and peanuts which they all enjoy so well. 
And this is all enjoyment in a quiet sort of way, 
But we can't control our feelings when the band begins 

to play. 

35 



Planning for the Fourth. 

For then the crowd will all break loose and those 

resounding cheers 
Will prove that tunes we loved when young have not 

grown old with years. 
AVe'll watch the races and parade, and hear the speakers, 

too, 
And cheer them as they tell about the country grand 

and true. 
There'll be fireworks in the evening, which, of course, 

we cannot miss. 
And weariness will vanish when we hear the rockets hiss. 
And after that is over we will bid our friends good-bye. 
With hopes to meet them all again the Fourth of next 

July. 
Each tired face will be happy as we homeward wend our 

way, 
When everything is quiet and the band has ceased 

to play. 

36 



The Old Chunk Stove, 



'T^HERE is one thing I miss in these days of advance- 
ment, 
And their number grows smaller with each passing 
year, 
For the touches of time seem to change most completely 
Those things which we hold in our memories most 
dear. 

I speak of the stoves that were used by our fathers, 

When the forests were handy and country was new; 

That stove glowing red-hot with winter winds howling 
Is a picture from childhood that comes to my view. 

It was made of sheet-iron, and not meant for beauty. 
Or to serve as a dazzling creation of art ; 

But it answered the purpose for which 'twas intended. 
And was ever a source of good cheer to the heart. 



The Old Chunk Stove. 

For the comfort and joy from that stove radiating, 
As we sat in its genial rays, cheerful and warm. 

Defied gloomy thoughts and all sorrow and trouble 
As it roared in defiance of winter and storm. 

It was dented and marred by its long years of service. 
And was minus one leg (though supplied by a brick), 

But merely for heat, from all stoves of creation. 
That dingy old sheet-iron stove I would pick. 

And a pleasure not known in these days of invention, 
And new ways of heating, except by a few, 

Is to come home from work, chilled through by the 
weather, 
And to hear that stove roar as if welcoming you. 

The stove that I speak of is long since disabled, 
Has ceased its activities, gone from our sight ; 

But the fond recollections which cling round about it. 
Shall dwell in our memories and always be bright. 

38 



The <Md Chunk Stove. 

And its crackle and sputter on long winter evenings 
All chill and discomfort from the house quickly 
drove ; 

So I say there has naught been discovered for heating 
Could equal that dingy old sheet-iron stove. 



Cattaraugus — i 90 1 



/^UR village is a-growin' fast — 

Whenever I go down 
It seems, by jinks ! that I have struck 

A mighty lively town. 
The hitchin' posts are always full, 

And from the busy streets 
The dry -goods boxes all are gone 

We used to use fer seats. 



And when I leave my horses stand 

To go into a store. 
They hain't no cause to wander off 

And leave me any more, 
Fer now the tender, temptin' grass 

That used to wave so green 
Along cur streets in summer time 

Is nowhere to be seen. 



Cattaraugus— 7901. 

The weekly paper of to-day 

Was tellin' where and how 
Our "city" needs improvements — 

They call it "city" now. 
I guess they had to stretch the facts 

In statin' it so plain ; 
But then it shows our longin's, 

Though we may long in vain. 

Electric lights? we've got them, 

And they make the finest show 
From the hills to watch them gleamin' 

In the village down below; 
And the moon looks kinder sickly, 

Like he didn't have no rights 
Where he used to be most welcome, 

Since we got electric lights. 

As I came down the other night 
I stopped and, from the hill, 



Cattaraugus — 1901 . 

Looked o'er the village at my feet 

So quiet-like and still, 
When strains of sweetest music 

From the valley seemed to 'rise, 
That echoed from the hills around 

Up toward the starry skies. 

First came some lively pieces 

Of the kind to thrill one through, 
And then " Star Spangled Banner " — 

The tune that's always new. 
I ain't so much fer sentiment, 

But that was somethin' grand ; 
There's nothin' 'round to equal it. 

Our military band. 

And I might mention with the rest 
How they propose to go 

And build a great electric line 
From here to Buffalo. 



Cattaraugus — 1901. 

I guess such things ain't dangerouB, 
There's nothin' there to burst; 

But someone else may have my chance 
To ride the blamed thing first. 

There's many things about this place 

That I won't try to tell ; 
There's somethin' new 'most every day 

Which helps the list to swell. 
In absent hearts a chord is touched 

That strong with rapture thrills 
Upon receipt of news from home, 

The village in the hills. 



The Winters We Used to Have, 



Tust a few days ago my mind wandered back 

To my earlier days, which, a well beaten track, 
Extends through my memory ; and what occurred then, 
I'm sorry to think will ne'er happen again. 
I thought how the winters were colder back there. 
(I know better now, this to you I'll declare.) 
I remember the snow fell so deep in those days, 
That we oft had to break out the road with our sleighs. 

But my wife says to me, '' Don't you fear, Hezekiar, 
You just get lots of wood for to keep a good fire. 
For I know that the truth of the saying will hold. 
If there's not so much snow it will make up with cold : 
For the goddess of nature, with scrupulous care, 
Always sends what is best for our highest welfare." 



The Winters We Used to Have. 

And INIandy was right, as you Inter will see, 

But I didn't think then that it ever would be 

As cold as it was in those days long gone by, 

When the mercury lowered and the snow was piled high. 

But since that sharp day I will boast nevermore 

Of the winters we had in the days now passed o'er. 

Next morning the mercury registered ten 

Below zero point, and it hadn't stopped then. 

While the mercury dropped my old notions were ban- 
ished, 

In the cold wave that day from the Northwest they 
vanished. 

And now 1 am sorry I boasted so free 

That the winters are milder than thev used to be. • 



45 



The Bov at the Grindstone. 



TTow oft we recall things that happened in childhood, 
And treasure their memories through vanishing 
years ; 

Some thoughts of our youth may bring smiles to our 
faces 
While others are laden with sorrow and tears. 
It is one of the latter I now wish to speak of, 

Most painfully vivid the thought comes to me 
Of the hours that I spent, when a boy, at the grind- 
stone — 
The old creaking grindstone that stood 'neath the 
tree. 

46 



The Boy at the Grindstone. 

I remember that grindstone, its framework was wooden : 

Its handle was iron, as I recollect well. 

For it blistered my hands, made them worse with each 
turning — 

If that grindstone could speak, tales of anguish 
'twould tell. 

And it seemed that each day there were things wanted 
grinding. 

And I longed for the moment when I should be 
free ; 
All the boys had gone fishing, but I had to keep turning 

That old creaking grindstone that stood 'neath the 
tree. 

To the scenes of my boyhood my mind often wanders. 
And at leaving the farm I was filled with regret ; 

But no tears did I shed upon leaving that grindstone. 
For the suffering it caused me I could not forget. 



The Boy at the Orindstone. 

When I wished to go swimming or play ball or marbles, 

'' Come, boy," was the cry that most surely would 

be, 

I knew what that meant, and would march like a major 

To turn the old grindstone that stood 'neath the 

tree 

There would stand the hired man, with a big can of 
water, 
And with knives in his hand from the mowing 
machine, 
And while 1 turned the handle he poured on some 
water, 
Then with all of his might on that grindstone 
would lean. 
I love that old farm ; recollections are pleasing 

As backward through years in my fancy I flee ; 
But I heave not a sigh for that shaky old grindstone, 
The creaking old grindstone that stood 'neath the 
tree. 

48 



The Boy at the Grindstone. 

The poets have sung of the farmers so thrifty, 

They're worthy of praises, as ev^eryone knows, 
But the boys whom the grindstones deprive of their 
pleasures 

Get no share of the credit which mankind bestows. 
But all of those men who, as boys, knew the hardships 

Endured at the grindstone will now join with me 
In sending forth praise for the boy who is turning 

The creaking old grindstone that stands 'neath the 
tree. 



The Boy in the Philippines. 



A s the dear friends and relatives gather once more, in 

the old-fashioned, time-honored way. 
In the homes of their childhood, to memory dear, on 

the coming Thanksgiving Day, 
A feeling of sadness will fill many breasts which was 

not known one short year ago. 
And the brightness and joy which on all faces gleam 

will but cover the sorrow they know. 
And each father and mother, with hair grown so white, 

will stand there to greet every guest ; 
While their fond, yearning eyes will scan vainly each 

face, as the sighs which cannot be suppressed 
Will arise for the boy who was with them last year, now 

so far from these dear, home-like scenes, 
Who is fighting to-day for his dearly-loved land, away 

in the far Philippines. 



The Boy in the Philippines. 

For the tropical sun of the far Orient shines on many a 

brave volunteer 
Who on Thanksgiving Day will be sad when he thinks, 

with the horrors of war so near, 
That he cannot rejoice with the loved ones at home as 

they peacefully gather around 

To partake of the cheer of the bounteous year in the 

place where life's comforts abound. 
And in fancy he'll see, as he so often does, them all by 

the fireside so bright. 
And will hear as they speak of the boy who is gone as 

far as the day from the night ; 
His thoughts will commingle with theirs on that day, 

though a deep, boundless sea intervenes, 
And he knows that their prayers are ascending for him — 

the boy in the Philippines. 



The Boy in the Philippines. 

And his father and mother will thank the good Lord 

for the blessings of life they enjoy ; 
But prosperity's joys would seem greater by far, if 

shared with their dear absent boy. 
They will speak of the day when they last saw their boy 

as he marched from their hearing and sight, 
For the cause of the flag, which he'd always been taught 

was the emblem of justice and right. 
Then they all will surround that old table again, as they 

do in each bountiful year. 
But in many a home they will miss one bright face — 

one gay, boyish laugh they'll not hear. 
And the old gray-haired father will offer his thanks for 

the blessings recalled by these scenes, 
And will pray that the Lord may return to them soon 

the boy in the far Philippines. 



The Husking Bee. 



TT Then the sun's rays grow more slanting, 

And the frost comes in the air, 
And the dying breath of summer 

Sheds a fragrance everywhere, 
Then my soul is filled with longing 

For the merriment and glee 
Which awaits the end of harvest 

And is called the husking bee. 

For when the crops are gathered 

In the barn in shining heaps. 
And we know that 'neath each greenish coat, 

In golden rows, there sleeps 
The corn for which we labored. 

Then we all can plainly see 
That the time is fast approaching 

To have our husking bee. 

53 



The Husking Bee. 

We invite the young men all to come 

And bring their best girls, too, 
For while the men are husking corn 

There's work enough to do 
To set the tables in the house, 

Where all good things are free ; 
Then all the men come from the barn 

To eat — at the husking bee. 

Then witli dancing, songs and stories 

They will pass the time away, 
Till the old clock has to warn them 

That ere long will come the day. 
Then with sweetheart home you slowly stroll, 

Nor care how far it be ; 
She tells you, as you say good night, 

She enjoyed the husking bee. 



The Husking Bee, 

You may talk of high-toned parties, 

But I say they can't compare 
With the joys we knew upon the farm 

Where all were free from care ; 
And those whose minds call back those times 

I think will say with me, 
That life can scarce be full without 

A good old husking bee. 



Thanksgivin' Day Till 
New Year's. 



nphanksgivin' Day till New Year's, it's a jolly time 

fer me, 
Fer then all boys is happy, er I think they ought to be ; 
O' course all holidays is nice ; we all enjoy 'em some, 
But then we have to wait so long fer 'nother one to 

come. 
But when Thanksgivin' Day comes 'round an' pa an' 

Uncle Bill 
Are looking kinder sollum-like an' tell me to be still, 
An' say I must be thankful fer the good things I enjoy ; 
But ma says, "What can you expect o' jest a healthy 

boy?" 
Then I'm glad it ain't all over in one day 'at goes so 

fast, 
I like to think o' joys to come as well as 'em 'at's past. 

56 



Thanksgivin' Day Till New Year's 

Fer Christmas Day is coniin' soon, when somethin' in 

the air 
Won't let folks mind your mischief an' no one seems to 

care 
Jest how much noise an' racket you may make, fer 

don't you see, 
They all are feelin' jolly, as well as boys like me. 
O' course, us boys can't tell our thoughts in any kind 

o' style 
Like older folks ; but then I guess I'm thankful all the 

while, 
Because through all Thanksgivin' Day I never can forget 
That other days is comin' soon fer boys 'at's better yet. 
There ain't no time in all the year such holidays can send, 
Thanksgivin' kinder leads the bunch with New Year's 

at the end. 

But I like Christmas best of all, fer all the rest in one 
Can't make a holiday like that fer happiness an' fun ; 



Thanksgivin' Day Till New Year's. 

'Cause there is lots an' lots o' things 'sides what we 

have to eat 
'At makes that day a time fer boys 'at never can be 

beat. 
Fer my ma goes a-shoppin' downtown 'most every day 
An' brings home lots o' bundles an' hides 'em all away 
Where she don't think I'll find 'em, but I know jest 

what she's got, 
Fer I jest hid behind the door an' seen a stunnin' lot. 

An' Christmas Day I'll act surprised at gettin' such a 

sight, 
But now I see 'em every day an' dream of 'em at night. 

An' Sister Sue must think 'at I ain't got no sense er she 
Would never try to tell that trash ' bout Santa Claus to me. 
When I was jest a little boy I guess I b'lieved it then, 
But stuff like that don't work no more with boys 'at's 
almost ten. 

58 



Thanksgivin' Day Till New Year's. 

I know who gives the presents an' I've found it always 

pays 
Fer boys to act their very best before the holidays. 
An' if I had a lot more time why then I'd like to tell 
Some more about these happy days 'at boys all like so 

well ; 
But now I guess I've said enough so anyone can see 
Thanksgivin' Day till New Year's is a jolly time fer me. 



59 



The Farmer's View of Spring, 



f N the spring the sturdy farmer 

Does not dream of beauties rare, 
Which the poet's idle vision 

Places round him everywhere ; 
Though, of course, he likes the glories 

Which the spring throws in his way, 
He always does the best he can 

To make those beauties pay. 

He does not spend his precious time 

In praising springtime beauty ; 
He has a soul alive to all, 

But he does his simple duty. 
His life is near to nature's heart, 

His thoughts with nature blend ; 
He knows that spring is but the means — 

The harvest is the end. 



The Farmer's View of Spring. 

He likes to hear his green trees praised, 

And the buds that forward shoot ; 
Because he knows those little buds 

Foretell the coming fruit. 
He likes the golden sunshine, 

The rain which Heaven drops ; 
For all that nature sends will help 

Mature his well-earned crops. 

He likes to watch his meadows green, 

And know that grass grows well ; 
He thinks, perhaps, that in the fall. 

He'll have some hay to sell. 
He reads about the warbling birds. 

He also likes their notes ; 
But he worries more about the place 

Where he'd better sow his oats. 



The Farmer's View of Spring. 

In short, the springtime beauties help 

To cheer his honest heart ; 
He'd find life dull without them 

And the pleasures they impart ; 
But he only seeks to use the time, 

These happy days of spring, 
So all his powers with nature joined 

Shall bounteous harvest bring. 



The Deserted Schoolhouse, 



'"pHE old country schoolhouse of childhood 

Is standing deserted and still 
In the lane where it joins with the highway, 

At the foot of a long, sloping hill ; 
And passing that way I noticed to-day 

That the brook where at recess we played 
Has quite disappeared, and the trees on its banks 

Are gone, with their cool, pleasant shade. 

No humming of glad youthful voices 

Comes now through the wide-open door, 
In harmony rising and falling. 

While chanting the lessons o'er. 
There are weeds growing over the door- step 

Not beaten by hurrying feet. 
And I saw through the dusty window 

My old, well- remembered seat. 

63 



The Deserted Schoolhouse. 

The chair where the teacher of old used to sit 

And rule us with despotic sway, 
Like an absolute monarch of eastern lands, 

Is idle and useless to-day. 
The stove seemed more rusty than ever. 

And cobwebs hung low in the room ; 
I fancied that playmates of childhood 

Were greeting me out of the gloom. 

I asked why the schoolhouse was idle. 

And was told by a man living near 
That they built a fine school in the village, 

And they '' took up the deestrick here." 
A grand and imposing brick building. 

Reared up in the most modern way. 
Has taken the old country schoolhouse 

From all but our memories to-day. 
64 



The Deserted Schoolhouse. 

I'm glad that the pathway of learning 

Which the children of these days pursue 

Has not many thorns with its roses — 

Like the one that we had to pass through. 

And I hope after years have sped onward 
Their glimpses of childhood may be 



As sweet as the ones that come racing 



From out of the distance to me. 



The Pumpkin that Grows 
with the Corn. 



The praise of the melon has often been chanted, 

Its beauty and flavor are splendid, we know ; 
And the rich, juicy sweetness within each implanted 

Makes a field of them ripened a most tempting 
show. 
But I speak of another with station more lowly. 

Which often is used as an object of scorn, 
And has never been granted the homage which wholly 

Belongs to the pumpkin that grows with the corn. 

It is not considered a fancy creation. 

Or classed as a product of nature's best skill, 

And its beauty has never called forth admiration 
As it gleams in the sunshine away on the hill ; 



The Pumpkin that Grows with the Corn. 

But made into pies with a richness and splendor, 
In tempting array for a Thanksgiving morn, 

There's nothing a bountiful harvest can render 

To equal the pumpkin that grows with the corn. 

Its outward appearance in no way discloses, 

As it lies in the cornfield half sunk in the earth, 
The fact that within its bright coat there reposes 

A sure, future prospect of goodness and worth. 
And a good winter's store may be counted a treasure. 

Which cannot be equalled, as sure as you're born ; 
For 'tis ever a source of most genuine pleasure. 

This dusky, brown pumpkin that grows with the corn. 

It ever may hold the same humble position. 
And never aspire to a more lofty height ; 

Contented in nobly fulfilling its mission, 

A blessing to all, that brings joy and delight. 
67 



The Pumpkin that Orows with the Corn. 

And those who once taste of its goodness will never 
Look down with a sneer on the pumpkin forlorn, 

But will sound forth its praises and glory forever — 

The plain, golden pumi)kin that grows with the 
corn. 



The County Fair. 

'HP HE County Fair is comin' soon, and all the papers 
state 

The managers declare that they will make it somethin' 
great ; 

In fact, they say 'twill be the best they ever held, this 
year ; 

To anyone that's seen the bills that point is mighty 

clear. 
They're posted up on every barn between my place and 

town, 
I stopped and looked them over as I was comin' down. 

Such horses and such cattle as them people advertise 
I never saw, but 'twas a sight to please a farmer's eyes. 
And hogs — I thought I had some ; but, I say, they 

can't compare 
In size with them the bills say will be at the County 

Fair. 

69 



The County Fair. 

The fair is held but once a year, and then they try to 
show 

The greatness of our people and the things that make 

them so ; 
And when our nation's prosperous, as we know it is just 

now, 
It makes the farmer happy ; and the good times, I allow. 
Will make the fair successful; and, without the slightest 

doubt, 
'Twill help along the party which has brought the 

change about. 

And in spite of people's ravin's, in tones so deep and 

strong, 
That unless we change our actions we'll surely all go 

wrong. 
This nation cannot go to smash nor run into a snare 
Not while there's enterprise enough to hold a County 

Fair. 

70 



The County Fair. 

They'll have new-fangled farmin' tools, and make a 

farmer smile 
To see the way to do his work up in the latest style. 

They've got so much machinery throughout this land of 

late 
A man might buy some every day and not be up-to-date. 
And all that grows will be there, for its quality or size — 
I took a pumpkin down last year and got the second 

prize. 
I heard a feller say one day, and he made it plain to all, 
That the Pan-American next year would make our show 

look small ; 
And I don't know but what it will, but I for one don't 

care, 
I know we'll have a rousin' time down at the County 

Fair. 



The County Fair. 

There'll be amusements there, you know, to please the 

people all, 
With horse and bicycle races, and a first-rate game of 

ball; 
And there's somethin' quite excitin', which I'm liable 

to ketch 
When I see the horses strainin' every nerve along the 

stretch. 
The orators will praise the nation grand in accents loud, 
And bands with lively music try to please the waiting 

crowd. 
And when the fair is over and all the pleasure past, 
We'll be prouder of the country in which our lot is 

cast. 
Well, now, I must be goin', but I hope to see you 

there — 
You can't afford to miss the sights down at the County 

P'air. 



The Sugar-Snow. 



TN March, when the winter is dying and the springtime 

is drawing near, 
And its splendors unfolding in beauty are soon in our 

midst to appear, 
And the patches of snow on the hillsides grow smaller 

with each passing day. 
As if the brown soil upward peeping were striving to 

drive them away ; 
Then we eagerly look to the future, no sighs for the 

winter that's past^ 
And we dread not the winds blowing fiercely (we are 

certain that they cannot last), 
And the snow that comes nearest to springtime quickly 

melts 'neath the sunshine's glow — 
'Tis the kind that we see gently falling and is known as 

the " sugar-snow." 



The Sugar-Snow. 

It comes floating downward so slowly, with a motion 

majestic and grand, 
Like a vision of beauty from Heaven to brighten this 

dreary old land. 
And the flowers which have waited so calmly for the 

long, chilly winter to pass 
Will shrink at the sight, in despair, farther down in the 

frost-bitten grass. 
But soon they revive and grow fearless, rising upward to 

greet the warm light 
When the sun riding high in the heavens disperses the 

mantle of white ; 
Then the farmer has everything ready and is eagerly 

waiting to go 
To start up his work in the sap-bush at the sight of the 

first *' sugar-snow." 



The Sugar-Snow 
i 

When the first birds of springtime are chirping, inspired 

by the soft southern breeze, 
And the life-giving fluid of nature is leaping aloft in the 

trees. 
The men, through the fast-falling snow flakes, go to tap 

the great maples once more, 
Which have yielded their bounty of sweetness full many 

a season before. 
And all the day the warm snow falls so thickly and 

steadily down 
One can hardly see the tree-tops as they stand so bare 

and brown, 
And the children all enjoy it, for they always seem to 

know 
That 'tis time for maple sugar, when they see the 

*' sugar-snow." 



A Lesson in Contentment. 

npHK farmer sat by his kitchen fire, his head upon his 

hands, 
And the fire-liij^ht gleamed on his once dark hair, now 

streaked with silver bands. 
His wife was sitting near him and on her face there 

showed 
A sort of discontented look; 'twas plain she had her 

load 
Of tiresome cares, as well as he, although without a word 
She bore her lot and no complaint from out her soul 

was heard. 

jfC :ii ;•< 

At length the farmer raised his head and said to her: 

" Dear wife, 
There's something I would like to say pertaining to our 

life. 



A Lesson in Contentment. 

It's something I have thought about for days and weeks 

agone ; 
It scarcely let me sleep at night and began again at 

dawn. 
'l"is this: we've lived upon this farm for nearly thirty 

years ; 
Life's pleasures have been scarce, you know, not so its 

storms and fears. 
Our children all have left us ; we're alone here, you 

and I, 
And I think that we should take a rest before our time 

to die. 
I'm tired of endless labor and I think that you are, too ; 
We've got some money in the bank — enough to last us 

through — 
So let us hire the farm work done and buy a })lace in 

town 
Where we'll be happy once again, no cares to weigh 

us down. 



A Lesson in Contentment. 

What sa)^ you, wife, do you agree to all that I have 

said? 
If so, we'll leave this life of toil and enjoy ourselves 

instead." 
His wife laid down her knitting and raised her care- 
worn face, 
On which now shone a brighter look, and in her eye a 

trace 
Of tears of joy which told as plain as any words could 

do 
That with her husband she agreed and accorded with 

his view. 
Said she : " Dear John, I'm glad to hear you speak of 

that which I 
Have thought and prayed about so long, and wept o'er 

on the sly. 
I think that life has pleasures yet for such as you and I 
Who always tried to do the right, and before the end 

draws nigh 



A Lesson in Contentment. 

We'll have our share of happiness. Of course, we'll 

miss the farm, 
But country life has lost for us its old-time happy charm, 
And so with you I am agreed and think it's for the 

best 
That we should leave this life of toil and take the 

needed rest." 

^ ^ ^ 

And thus it was agreed, and the happy farmer went 
To town next day and bought a house, with heart now 

well content. 
The house was small and seemed to be just suited for 

those two ; 
They seemed to think when they moved in that life 

would start anew. 
But soon they found that happiness, if they could find 

it here, 
Was bought at much too great a price — had cost all that 

was dear. 



A Lesson in Contentment. 

They learned that in a city, with its noise and busy 
strife, 

Cannot be found that peacefulness which fills a country 
life. 

With all the toil and trouble there, the comfort they had 
known 

Was great. Amid the city's hum they still were sad and 
lone. 

The farmer walked about the house, he knew not what 
to do ; 

He had.no chores to tend to now. His honest face and 
true 

Soon lacked the old-time, healthy glow ; his wife, 
grown poor and weak. 

Had lost the usual bloom of health from off her care- 
worn cheek. 

80 



A Lesson in Contentment. 

After due deliberation, they decided back to go 

To where their hearts had ever been ; and, in a day or 
so, 

They moved away from city life. It was a spring-like 
day 

When with hearts of happiness and joy they spied from 
far away 

Their absent home ; it loomed up now upon a distant 
hill, 

A sight to make their fond old hearts with new vibra- 
tions thrill ; 

And as they crossed the threshold of their early home 
that day, 

The looks of gloom and sadness from their faces sped 

away. 

^ -^ -^ 

That night the happy farmer sat, when all his work was 

done, 
Beside the same old kitchen fire, his face beamed like 

the sun. 



A Lesson in Contentment. 

Said he: ''Well, wife, I'm glad we're back, and dis- 
content no more 

Shall come to mar our happy lives, as it has done before. 

Let those who do not care to try a peaceful farming life 

Go make their fortunes in the town — they will not mind 
its strife ; 

But such as you and I, dear wife, who thirty years have 
been 

Accustomed to a quiet life, we could not stand the din. 

Till death much comfort we will take, we've found 
life's happy charm ; 

We'll always be contented now, no more we'll leave the 
farm." 



82 



A Letter to a Friend. 



T^EAR Friend : — 

Your very welcome letter has reached me all 
O. K., 
And I think that I will answer on this very pleasant day. 
As I have time in plenty and might be doing worse, 
I will gather up my scattered wits and write to you in 

verse. 
And if I lack for ready words to make a proper rhyme, 

Don't tell it, please, and I will make it right some other 

time. 
I was very glad to hear from you, and always am, you 

know ; 
Your letters seem to speed the hours which sometimes go 

so slow. 

83 



A Letter to a Friend. 

As a whisper floats on the evening air, when all is calm 
and still, 

So a letter goes from friend to friend with tokens of 
good will. 

I am glad to know that you are still so full of animation 

And speed so smoothly on your way to gain an educa- 
tion. 

Tjke a soldier in a battle, if one wins success in life, 
He must never lose his courage, never shrink from any 

strife ; 
For this old world is a tug of war and the one who wins 

the fight 
Is the one who keeps a cheerful heart and dares to do 

the right. 
Of course, I speak of others, no allusions to myself, 
For I am side-tracked in the race and laid upon the 

shelf; 

84 



A Letter to a Friend. 

% 

But those like you, with good health blest and spirits 

keeping pace, 
Should find no time for failure — be successful in the 

race. 
You ask me how I get along with Caisar ; I will say 
That I am still progressing — some two pages every day. 
And when I find translation hard you easily can guess 
I lose my temper, drop the book and — do a good deal 

less. 
But I don't find much trouble now, I guess I'm past the 

worst. 
The boys all say the Second Book is easier than the 

First. 
A friend was up not long ago and quickly made quite 

plain 

The places I had marked and sought to translate, but in 



85 



A Letter to a Friend. 

Some seem to think that I could pass, if I would only 

try, 
A regents' Ccesar paper and increase my counts thereby. 
But I'll let good enough alone ; some think I'm doing 

well, 
So I'll not disappoint them and not their hopes 

dispel. 

For if I tried and failed to pass, as you can plainly see. 
They might lose their good opinion and have the laugh 

on me. 
And perhaps I'm like so many, who seem always at their 

best 
Until some trying circumstance shall put them to the 

test. 
So I'll advance — not backwards, as the Dutchman said, 

you know — 
And when I've finished Csesar why I'll then start 

Cicero. 

86 



% A Letter to a Friend. 

Perhaps that will be better ; you will find out when you 

try 
That Caesar with his marches, talks and fights is pretty dry. 
But whatever I am doing when your year of. school is 

through 
If I have not forgotten all will read it o'er with you. 

The winter has seemed long to me, but soon will glide 
away 

And the warmth will seem more grateful when it con- 
quers in the fray ; 

But I long to have the spring come, and to watch the 
flowers arise, 

And to feel the sun beam warmly from the ever brighten- 
ing skies. 

Well, now, I think it's time to close this disconnected 

ietter, 
And send it out just as it is for want of something 

better. 



A Letter to a Friend. 

I often think of you, old boy, though miles may inter- 
vene, 

And hope that naught our friendship may ever come 
between. 

From afar I'll watch your progress — 'tis the best that I 
can do — 

And good will is the only gift I can freely offer you. 

There's nothing new that happens in the town or 'round 

about. 
But what you hear as soon as I, without the slightest 

doubt. 
Your brother drops in now and then, and when the 

weather's fair 

He takes me out to see the sights and get the good, fresh 
air. 



^ A Letter to a Friend. 

I hope the nap that you have had while reading through 

this rhyme 
Will do you good : now write me soon as you can spare 

the time. 
And, as I said before but failed, I'll now this letter end, 
And sign myself, with best regards, your ever sincere 

friend. 



Trials of Sugar Time. 

T spent a week irj^on a farm — 'twas maple sugar time — 
And what occurred while I was there I'll try to tell 

in rhyme. 
The farmer, in experience, was old, though young in 

years ; 
In farming vvays was skillful, but he had some doubts 

and fears 
'Bout making maple sweetness ; he had not learned that 

trade, 
And of success, which all foretold, was a little bit afraid. 
But his friends all pleaded with him (they calculated 

well 
To help him out on any which, perchance, he could 

not sell). 

90 



Trials of Sugar Time. 

And so he went to town and bought a wagon-load or so 
Of spouts and buckets and the like, and a tin pan long 

and low, 
To place upon an arch and boil the sap down in the 

wood, 
To save the women in the house as much work as he 

could. 
He tapped the bush (three hundred trees or more than 

that, I guess), 
And the farmer's bright and ruddy face now shone with 

happiness. 
He liked this kind of work, he said (his trials had not 

begun. 
And soon the work grew tiresome-like, which at first 

seemed just like fun). 

The sap ran well a day or two, 'twould soon the buckets 
fill, 

And the farmer went to gather it, with strong and reso- 
lute will. 



Trials of Sugar Time. 

The bush was high on a mountain side, the snow was 

three feet deep, 
And up some places on that hill a man could hardly 

creep. 
At first the farmer built a fire in the arch which he had 

bought 
(And the loss of brows and moustache to a man like 

him was naught); 
Then with two pails he started up the hill to gather sap, 
And coming back he stepped upon some ice and fell 

— ker-slap ! 
He slipped and fell, as I have said, naught could his 

progress check. 
Three quarts of liquid sweetness floated calmly down his 

neck ; 
But he stayed and faced the music, and boiled that sap 

all down. 
And then he took it to the house, his face without a 

frown. 



Trials of Sugar Time. 

His good wife scarcely knew him, his face had got so 
black, 

And the only shirt which he possessed was stuck fast to 

his back. 
Next day it got much colder, and the syrup he had 

brought 
Was cleansed from all the cinders, soot and dirt which 

it had caught. 
On that farm, the only question that was heard from sun 

till sun, 
Was about that maple syrup, or when again the sap 

would run. 
They had eleven gallons, and the farmer figured up 
Just what, so far, it cost him to drink that sweetened 

cup. 
He found that as he balanced up his cash book on that 

day, 
The sap-bush was his debtor still, for more than it could 

pay. 



Trials of Sugar Time. 

Of course, he'd get the money part ; but he found out to 
his cost 

That one thing it could ne'er return, that is — a mous- 
tache lost. 

But time would make that right again ; though from 
that awful day, 

The farmer's wife had noticed that his hair was turning 
gray. 

And soon he went about his work ; this decision he had 
made 

That to his farming he would 'tend and quit the sugar 
trade. 



On Life's Border We Stand, 



(The following poem was written at the request of the Class of 1899, 
Cattaraugus High School, and was read by one of its members at the 
annual Class Day Exercises of that year ) 



A T this time when all things are rejoicing, 

And the birds, their glad sentiments voicing, 
Seem joyously striving to greet us ; 
From a life with its duty and also its pleasure 
We come, and our hearts leap with joy beyond measure 
As our friends come with welcomes to meet us. 

And now, as each one of our class sadly severs 
His life from the scenes of his youthful endeavors, 

Which were spent in conforming to rule ; 
All the glamor and brightness of life seem departing 
As our boat on the broad, restless current is starting, 

And our school life is merged in life's school. 



On Life's Border We Stand. 

As the leaves and the flowers in the springtime unfolding — 
Which the goddess of nature in splendor is molding, 

To gladden each struggling heart — 
Need the sunshine and rain, and each heaven-sent blessing, 
To make them expand, the Divine will expressing, 

And their beaut)^ and fragrance impart, 

So with youth as they come from an endless creation, 
And, driven by nature to secure education, 

Should be nourished and tended with care. 
As the sunshine and rain are enlarging the flowers, 
So our youth need assistance to strengthen their powers 

For the future in which they must share. 

But there comes a time, as the season progresses, 
When a thought of the future on each mind impresses 

The hope that the autumn will bring, 
From fields that are waving in rich, golden splendor, 
Which betoken a bountiful harvest to render, 

Rich reward for the labor of spring. 

96 , 



On Life's Border We Stand. 

And thus stands our class and our future seems bright, 
While our youth, like the springtime, has taken its flight. 

What the harvest will be may be known : 
For to farmers who toil the yield does not forsake them; 
But our lives have to be just what we may make them, 

And each one must struggle alone. 

There are many to-day who are facing life's dawn. 
With sighs just as tender for youth past and gone, 

And with hopes just as bright as our own ; 
But they seem to forget, for the future preparing, 
That what they have learned is not worth comparing 

To that which there is to be known. 

For the world is a school, and its practical knowledge 
Cannot be obtained in a school house or college. 

But in contact with life's busy throng ; 
And ofttimes the fairest youth-dreams we have cherished 
Will fade like a flower which in using has perished, 

So our hearts must be valiant and strong 

97 



On Life's Border We Stand. 

To meet all the trials of life uncomplaining, 
For with each disappointment new strength we'll be 
gaining, 

And the truth of this maxim is found : 
That the sorrows of life, if treated with gladness, 
Will lose from their gloom more than half of its sadness; 

And in place of pain, joy will abound. 

As the dawn of a century toward us is speeding, 

The chances for young folks, who true lives are leading. 

Than at this time were never more bright ; 
For the world is the field, with its boundless resource?, 
Which is calling to-day, and it needs our best forces 

For honesty, justice and right. 

We may not win fortune, we may not win fame. 
For ofttimes the world's praise is only a name 
Which so many strive to possess ; 



On Life's Border We Stand. 

Though our station be humble, in all that we do, 
Our lives may be honest and noble and true, 
And this is the highest success. 

To our teachers and friends, by whose tireless devotion 
Our class is enabled to launch on life's ocean, 

The thanks of the class we would tender ; 
And we hope that our lives may be spent with the view 
To honor their efforts so noble and true, 

And the precepts they've striven to render. 

For the school and its surroundings we have naught but 

words of praise, 
'Mid the very best environments have passed our early 
days ; 
May our lives, firmly anchored in truth, 
Repay your endeavors unselfishly shown. 
And the good seed your kindness has patiently sown 
In the glad, happy springtime of youth. 
L.ofC. 



On Life's Border We Stand. 

In all the marts of life are those who've gone this way 

before : 
They are sailing on life's river, we are standing on the 

shore ; 
They welcome us among them with cheers. 
In turn we'll greet our school-mates with rejoicing deep 

and strong, 
As each class shall bring its numbers to swell the joyous 

throng, 
On and on through the flight of years. 

But our meetings now are over, our class must separate ; 
And as we face life's stormy scenes, to conquer over 
fate, 
Our thoughts will ever twine 
Around the Cattaraugus School, and as classes come 

and go, 
We hope, amid life's changes, you will find time to 
bestow 
A thought upon the Class of '99. 



On Life's Border We Stand. 

So, to-night on the border of life we are standing, 
To morrow's bright sun in its beauty expanding. 

As it dawns on a day just begun, 
Will bring to our lives new hopes and ambitions, 
And present in its fullness to our eager visions 

A life to be fought — and won. 



Sparks from the Embers. 



There floats not a cloud without sunshine behind it. 
There's gladness in life if we only will find it. 

]y[ANY people make their troubles seem larger by looking at 
them as through an opera glass, while they diminish the 
blessings of life in the same way — only by viewing them through 
the wrong end. 

'T'here is a true saying, that we should never speak of another 
unless we can say something good of him. Perhaps that is 
the reason so many of us are not spoken of at all. 

Y^T E all know that riches are liable to take unto themselves wings 
and fly away ; yet everyone seems more than willing to 
take the risk. 

'T'he man who expects to become prominent through the fame of 
his wife cannot always be said to " control his own destiny." 

Jf we all knew as much as we think we know there would be.no 
further need of colleges. 

A YOUNG man, having acquired a good share of the knowledge 
that is possible in this advanced age, may, on leaving college, 
turn aside from it all, and without the least humiliation to himself, 
bow down before an old gray-haired man who, perhaps, never 
saw a college, and learn from the school of experience. 

CciENTiSTS claim that there is great danger in kissing. But how 
courageous we all are when face to face with such awful 
dangers ! 



Sparks from the Embers. 

A BASEBALL player finishing a score is like the rich man trying 
to avoid the tax collector — he would like to make his home 
run. 

^J'he man who thinks he knows it all unconsciously gives the 
impression that he has not tried to store his mind with 
knowledge to any great extent ; because one who has made the 
least attempt to study very deeply soon discovers that he knows 
absolutely nothing compared to the vast amount which is to be 
known. 

Jt is actually true that the office sometimes seeks the man ; but 
nobody ever knew of it being a game of hide and seek. 

^ MAN who takes a loaf of bread when he is hungry, steals, and 
is called a thief; but the bank cashier who makes away with 
$500,000 belonging to the bank, only defrauds, and is called an 
embezzler. So goes the world ! 

JV/Tany people try to imagine what an immense hole will be left 
in the world when they are called hence. And they are 
generally the very ones who are so anxious to cut a figure in the 
world, too I 

»< Vou bring cold comfort," said the anxious parent to the man 
who was delivering ice for the sick child. 

Py[o matter what happens, always make the best of everything — 
especially butter. 

pROM the time a man holds the office of pathmaster until he 
obtains a seat in Congress, he is a mere politician ; if he is in 
a position to help his nation out of a difficulty, he is a diplomat ; 
after he dies, he is a statesman. 



Sparks from the Embers. 

Jt is not always a farmer who raises a crop of corn. I have seen 
a hen do the same thing. 

]y[AN shudders with horror no longer at the ravages of wars, 
pestilences, famines and such like small things, but bows 
in abject humiliation, owning himself conquered, before his most 
deadly enemy — the microbe. 

Phrenologists tell us that there is a certain bump on a man's 
head which, if developed, causes a spirit of combativeness. 
On the other hand, it is very often a spirit of combativeness that 
causes the bump. 

<f ^NOTHER dash for the poll," said the man with the newspaper, 
as he struck at a fly on his bald head. 

"The man who so far disregards the laws of society as to eat 
while in his shirt-sleeves is a queer old fogey, if he is poor; 
but if he is rich, he is only an eccentric old gentleman. 

"The man who will have nothing to do with the church because 
there is someone in it who is a hypocrite, unconsciously 
places himself on a level with that person, because he admits 
that he, perhaps, would not do any better. 

Jt is evident that some marriages are not contracted in Heaven ; 
on the contrary — 

"^HE silent man says nothing, of course. The man who is not 
silent very often says the same thing. 

"^HE reports say that the war in the Philippines is over. That 
is correct, of course. We all knew it was over — in the 
Philippines. 



Sparks from the Embers. 

yi^CTlONS speak louder than words. The people who listen to 
the voice of a man in church on Sunday are very few com- 
pared to those who listen to the greater sound of his actions 
through the week. 

'VA/'e hear very often that some folks have elastic consciences. 
Of course, those are the ones who are most liable to yield to 
temptation. 

"XA/'e often read of people who go abroad without leaving their 
native land — by means of a dynamite explosion, for 
instance. 

As we all know, colleges are founded and run mainly for the 
purpose of filling with knowledge the waste places on the 
inside of the students' heads; but all that seems to be accomplished 
in some cases is to enlarge the outside proportions of the same. 

YyHEN the wine is in, the wit is out — and sometimes all of it. 

Tf a man wins success in life it is by his own efforts ; if not, it is 
the hand of fate. 

■^yE often count our blessings as we do eggs, a half dozen at a 
time; while we seem to take pleasure in counting our 
troubles singly. 

Jt is claimed that a man's character is affected by the condition 
of the weather. So it is, if our language at certain times is any 
indication. 

n /\^RE you a football player" ? asked the landlord of his tenant. 
"No sir," replied the tenant. *' I thought perhaps you 
were," said the landlord, " as you are a quarter-back— on your 
rent." 



Sparks from the Embers. 

A MAN who has more money than he can find use for, cannot 
stop adding to his store any more than a farmer with more 
land than he needs already, can resist buying that " forty acre 
strip 'jinin'." 

Jt is true that our troubles are greatly increased by constantly 
thinking about them. Why can't we do the same with our 
blessings ? 

'pHERE is humor in everything — especially in a joke on the other 
fellow. 

"Vou cannot judge the capabilities of a man by his looks, any 
more than you can judge the power of a locomotive by its 
outward appearance. 

J SUPPOSE the reason why so many people think they ought to 
" take the cake " in everything must be because they have 
the "dough." 

^'he man who is most desirous of raising the mortgage on his 
farm is sometimes the one who is too shiftless to raise the 
crops for the purpose. 

It is better to smile than to frown. Then laugh. 

"There is a vast difference between the realms of theory and 
practice. When we hear the many fine qualities of the 
fountain pen we live for a time in the pleasant land of theory ; but 
when we come to test those excellent qualities for ourselves, we 
suddenly drop right back into the cold, cruel world of practice. 

"PHE clerk in a large city store may not belong to the army, but 
he certainly knows the counter-sign. 



Sparks from the Embers. 

'P'here is a certain quality which is of great benefit in connection 
with knowledge, but which is not always acquired with it, 
and which helps to make many men successful without a "great 
amount of education, namely — plain common-sense. 

Tt is thought to be necessary for the man who wishes to be suc- 
cessful in politics to have a " pull " ; but it is certain that to be 
successful in that, or any other line, one must also have '* push," 

'pHERE is no need to spend much time in courting trouble. It is 
not bashful. 

'There is only one great difficulty with all the so-called flying 
machines which have appeared up to the present time — they 
don't fly. 

There are many men who do not know what failure means; but 
the man who is successful after breasting the storms of ad- 
versity is the one who appreciates life most. 

The sorrows of life are many ; therefore, by our actions we 
should make them seem as few as possible. The pleasures 
of life are few ; therefore, we should make the most of them. 

■y^E often go so far out of our way in search of something to 
worry about that when happiness comes knocking for 
admittance at our very doors we are not at home to welcome 
him. 



^t 2} IPOI 



UBHAn' 



7oi5 971 344 



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